Anis Mojgani

The Crow

My grandfather did not speak much English. I didn’t speak much Farsi. He drank
Coca-Cola in glasses with ice. At lunch I joined him. We watched a lot of television.
The Price is Right. Days of Our Lives. A movie with a man on the Golden Gate
Bridge. The man was dressed in a dark hood and carried a hook that he killed people
with. The bridge in the fog and a giant figure coming through it lifting a woman up by
her throat is the only thing I remember of that movie.
When I was in college I saw a movie called The Crow. It starred Brandon Lee, son of
the greatest Kung-Fu artist in the world. His father had died under strange
circumstances. So had he. People labeled it a family curse. There was the tip of a
dummy bullet lodged in the barrel of a gun firing blanks and when it was shot on set the
bullet tip killed him. I haven’t seen the movie since the dorm rooms. Everyone at that
time spoke of what a shame it was he had died so young so charismatic and so ready to
step into the shoulders of his dead father.
The movie takes place in Detroit. I ate dinner in that city one time. In a diner with black
blinds, with a girl I was still in love with. My heart was a ball of tangled Christmas lights.
I climbed up the stairs of the house she was living in. It was three stories tall and
surrounded by other three story houses. Their kitchen sink was full of emptied beer cans.
The floor too. All the mansions on her street were boarded up. The inside of me could
feel the moon moving and breaking.

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